


Cloth Curtains

by SquigglyAverageJoe, WithDoveJo9e0 (SquigglyAverageJoe)



Series: Bound [1]
Category: Butterfly Soup (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Agender Character, Asian Character(s), Coming Out, Happy Ending, Meeting the Parents, Moving In Together, Nonbinary Character, finished!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/SquigglyAverageJoe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/WithDoveJo9e0
Summary: Min and Diya are now both eighteen and about to graduate—and they’re moving in together. Both have their own problems to overcome for this to happen.
Relationships: Diya/Min-seo (Butterfly Soup)
Series: Bound [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812403
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	Cloth Curtains

**Author's Note:**

> No—Min hasn’t really been confirmed to be nonbinary, HOWEVER—I just need some nb representation up in this bitch, okay? And I still love Butterfly Soup and I ship Min and Diya together just as much as I ship Shadow and Vio.

Simply as an act of rebellion, Min learned how to sew—it wasn’t that they wanted to learn how to sew. They didn’t. At all. And they never intended to ever sew again. Honestly, Min’s parents would _love_ to see them doing something so feminine, which was exactly why they would never know.

On the inside of their white curtains, Min stitched an agender flag into the cloth. No one but her knew it was there, and while if you looked at her window from outside, you’d see it, no one is there to see it. The window just faces the back of another apartment complex, one with no windows. That’s the beauty of it—because as much as they would love to throw that flag in their parents’ faces and scream, “Fuck you two, I’m queer as _fuck!_ ” there is no way they could do that.

Honestly, their parents likely don’t even know what it means—they aren’t openly transphobic or anything, but Min hasn’t told them literally anything about their life in a _long_ time. And they never will tell them. Hopefully, once Min moves out, they’ll never have to hear from their parents again. They would like that.

They close their curtains, stiff and rough on their (admittedly) small hands. Slowly, they sit on their bed. They need to pack—but they gotta admit; this is exciting.

They are, after an entire childhood of wanting to, finally moving out. They will be eighteen tomorrow and Diya’s already working on getting the apartment herself, and by tomorrow, they’ll be moved in—

They are gonna be sharing a bed with their girlfriend. They are going to be able to wake up in the mornings with Diya in their arms. Just thinking about living with Diya sends a flurry of butterflies crawling on their heartstrings, they are inhaling butterfly wings. 

Diya’s never cared that they can’t stand skirts, that they don’t wear makeup, not even foundation to cover up their acne. Diya’s liked all of their piercings, wears their jackets, helps them decide on more masculine haircuts without their mother knowing. Diya’s the one who bought them the flag in the first place.

Honestly, Min isn’t even sure if their parents are completely aware they are moving. Their parents don’t know about a lot of things they’re kids do, but that doesn’t matter. Tonight will be the last tense dinner. They’ll never look at all the mismatched glasses in the cupboards, the broken furniture, the pictures where there wasn’t pictures before.

Newly rejuvenated, Min gets to their feet and starts packing—the best part about this is, because they’re packing by themselves, they get to choose what they’re bringing with them. None of the skirts their mom made them buy and wear, none of the makeup they’re never going to use. This is great, this is great.

The door opens and Min glances over—no one, absolutely _no one_ is going to stop them from leaving. Even if that’s their father with a belt and they’re about to get into another argument, even if their mother tries to guilt trip them, even if their father says he’s going to change when he never really does—

They falter. Jun steps into the room, softly closing the door behind him. “Min,” he says.

They stop. They look at him, but they don’t know what else to do. Min has never been good with their emotions—sometimes, all they know is anger. Anger towards their parents, for making everything worse, anger towards their teachers for being unable to help them, and yes, sometimes, anger towards Jun, their twin brother, because sometimes, they just feel so betrayed that Jun can just _let_ all of this happen. It’s like he doesn’t care that they’re father is horrible. It’s like he thinks that just because they’ll never truly win, they shouldn’t fight, but they both should fight, because so long as they fight against their parents, they can’t truly lose.

Min looks down at the floor—they aren’t wearing the black boots they usually wear. “Jun,” they say. “I’m sorry.” And they really are.

“You’re leaving,” he says.

Jun can’t come with them. It’s not that Min wouldn’t like that—they want the both of them to get out of here. Yes, they are always at ends, but they’re still twins. Min realizes that, in they’re distancing themselves from their parents and keeping everything a secret from them, they have effectively cut Jun off for the most part. There is a lump in their throat that hurts to swallow. “Jun...”

And it’s not that Jun can’t really come with—he just won’t. Because he can’t bring himself to leave just yet—he wants to wait until he can graduate. Oh, god, a part of Min hates him, simply because, deep down, they adore him so much. He just wants a normal relationship with his parents, and to not have to fear them, and to not have to walk on eggshells. But he can’t. And it’s not that Min doesn’t want that, they just know it’s not about to happen. And Jun likely knows it too, but it never stops him from nodding his head in conversations with their father, when Min just stares him down with an anger so cold it burns. “Diya told me.”

What are they supposed to say? “I...I was going to tell you,” they say. But when? “...I’m sorry, Jun, but...Diya and I...”

He shakes his head—he isn’t meeting their eyes. “Mom says it’s time for dinner. I won’t bring it up.”

All of a sudden, Min feels like they’ve somehow been defeated. They follow Jun out into the dining room.

“What is it?” Diya wishes her parents didn’t always know what’s on her mind—but her mother knows.

Her father looks at her. “It’s softball, isn’t it?”

“Baseball,” she says, but its more of a mumble. She can barely hear herself. “I play baseball.”

Her father frowns—Diya looks more like him than she does her mom. They are the same height, the same athletic build with the same skin color and hair color, but she has her mother’s eyes. “Isn’t that a guys sport?” He asks. He knows, because he played baseball in high school too.

“It’s a sport,” she says, and almost all of her energy is spent. “I just...You know how I’m moving out?” She’s gonna faint. Oh shit, she’s gonna faint. Oh, no.

“Yes,” her mother says. Her hair is a bit lighter than Diya’s, but her skin is much darker—Diya isn’t sure if she’s done something to her hair or if it just looks like that. “We already saw the apartment you’re renting—I have to say, Diya, I don’t think you should move out. It’s not a very good apartment, and you have yet to even graduate; maybe you should wait on it.”

_But I can’t wait on it._ “...Do you remember...” She tries to breathe—she hasn’t brought this up in _years._ “Do you remember Min-seo? From when I was in like, third grade and...”

“Like?” Her mother says and Diya feels so dizzy, she needs to sit down but she’s already sitting down. 

“She was small, played baseball, liked weapons.” She runs a hand through her hair. “You said it was disturbing for children to act like that, and that kids shouldn’t curse and stuff.”

“I still stand by that,” her father says.

“And then she cut off her hair and showed off the nasty cut on her cheek to everyone and their mom after school, beneath the bandaid.”

“ _Oh,_ right, Min-seo.” Her mother looks up at her, confused. “I remember her.”

“Yeah, you didn’t like her. And then she moved away.”

“You were so upset,” her mother sighs.

“...Mom, she’s back.” She rubs at her eyes. “She’s been back since freshman year, and...” She feels sick. “She doesn’t go by ‘she’ anymore, just saying ‘she’ feels wrong.”

Her father frowns—and Diya reminds herself he isn’t saying this out of hatred, he just doesn’t know. “So, do you call her ‘it’ now?”

“No,” Diya says. “‘It’ is for objects. They’re a person.”

Her mom doesn’t pay a ton of attention to this. “Is she better now?” Like she was sick.

Diya rubs at her arm—Min’s told her a lot of stuff they haven’t told anyone before. If she told her parents about their parents, about how Min constantly feels the need to protect themself, how they just want to protect Diya and how they’re unfalteringly loyal, she feels like they’d understand. “...We’re moving in together.”

Her mother makes a face. “No, no, no,” she says. “I do not want that, that is...That is not happening.”

“Mom—“

“Diya,” her mother says, stern, but trying to be gentle. “That is not happening. I’ve seen pictures of the apartment, and there is only one bedroom, and you are not sleeping in the same room with a girl who dresses like a guy and makes weapons.”

“Mom, she was a third grader,” Diya says.

“The fact that you haven’t brought her up until now,” her father says. “Seems to imply she hasn’t changed and you knew we would object if we knew.”

“I’m...” She swallows—she hasn’t gotten any better at this. “...l-le...s...girl.”

“Yes,” her mother says. “You are girl.”

“Not,” Diya says. “I mean...am. Just...into...But Min isn’t...” Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“Diya?” Her father asks.

“...I’ve been dating her since freshmen year!” Diya exclaims. “And after a few months, she said she didn’t like being called a she, so I’ve called them a ‘they’ since because...I’m...Mom, dad, I...” She can’t breathe. She rests her head in her hands. “Their parents are shit,” she says.

“Language,” her mother scolds.

“But it’s true,” Diya insists.

“Diya,” her father says. “Just because they’re a bit strict with her doesn’t mean they’re bad parents. We can’t judge some one for their parenting skills just because they’re different from—“

“You remember when they cut their hair in third grade? They were sick of everyone ignoring what they said they wanted, because they assumed because she was a girl, she liked pink and dresses and they said every moment of their childhood sucked because of it.” Diya tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Should she be telling her parents about this? “And when their father found out, he threw something at them, but they moved out of the way and it broke their coffee table. He’s hit them. A lot. They’re scared to have me over, because they don’t want me to meet him.”

Her parents are staring at her. “They’re just stressed,” she says. “Constantly. And yeah, they’re angry, but that’s because they’re parents messed up and all they want to do is get away, but they...They’re so nice to me,” Diya says. “They hold doors open for me. They always tell me I look nice. When I’m upset, they’re the first to comfort me. They’re so...”

“Diya,” her mother says. “This is enough. You...” She shakes her head. “This isn’t like you. Ever since we found out Akarsha—“

She crosses her arms—she still feels like she’s gonna faint. “I got together with Min way before Akarsha actually started dating Noelle,” she says. “And guess what? Akarsha made me slightly more outgoing after all the time I spent around her.” She still feels like she’s gonna vomit though. “That was what you wanted, right?”

“We just want what’s best for you,” her father sighs. “We’re trying our best, and...” He glances at his wife. “I’m sure Min’s parents are trying their best, but I doubt Min is an easy daughter—“

Diya stands—her knees shake and almost buckle. “I’m moving out,” she says. “Tomorrow. With them. And...I really, really like them.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m pansexual, which...Means I’m into all genders because I don’t think you know what that means, and...I just I love them. And I was scared to tell you, because I knew you’d react like this.” She crosses her arms over her chest, more for comfort than anything. “I always told myself we’d get along better once I moved out, that I’d feel less like some disappointment of a daughter. ...Mom, Dad, I...I _really_ don’t want to have a relationship with you guys like the Min has with their parents. I don’t even think they’re telling them they’re moving out.”

Her parents are quiet. She turns on her heel. “ _AlrightI’mgoingtomyroomnow._ ” She still feels sick.

Dinner is tense. Min stabs at some green beans on their plate with their fork. Their father talks about work with their mother. Jun is next to them, staring down at his plate and playing with his food. “I’ll have to leave early in the morning,” Min’s father says.

“Should we do it tonight then?” Min’s mother asks.

Their father shrugs—in a bad mood as always. He has a glass of wine in his hand—his fourth tonight. Their mother stands and walks off—when she returns, she’s holding two boxes. She places one in front of each of the twins and sits down. Neither of Min’s parents are very expressive—they’re both wearing total deadpans. Well, Min assumes their father is—but they can’t look that man in the eye, unless they’re fighting, and then that’s all they can do, glare and make eye contact and stand their ground.

Min looks at it and pulls the lid off of the top of the box. They don’t sigh—they don’t want another accusation of ungratefulness. Inside the box is a light pink, a-line dress, a gold necklace with a flower pendant and black boots that Min would honestly like if they didn’t know their father had picked them out with the intention of making them taller. They don’t want to thank them—do they not spend any attention to know that Min loathes skirts and it’s not a phase? If it’s a phase, their phase has been going on for years. “Thanks,” they say. They don’t mean it.

And then Jun pulls out a suit. They both glance at each other and then look at their mother. “What...?” Jun says.

“In two weeks,” their mother says. “A good friend of mine is getting married to...” She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “That’s not important, her...choice in spouses is terrible, but she’s a good friend of mine and she has a son about your age, Min-seo.” Oh no, they can already see where this is going. “And he’s trying to find a good girlfriend.”

Min voices their disgust with a scoff and drops the box on the floor. “I’m not interested,” they say. Whatever their mom’s, friend’s son is like, he’s got nothing on Diya.

“Min-seo, don’t be rude,” their mother says.

“I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not interested in dating a total stranger, and definitely not meeting him in something like this. I don’t want a meet cute with your friend’s son in a pink dress and high heels.”

“What about a purple dress?” Their father says.

Min rolls their eyes. “I’m not going.”

“Min,” their father says, eyes narrowed. “You’re going.”

“No,” they say. “I don’t want to go—aren’t weddings supposed to be about love and unity and stuff? Why would your friend want some teen they don’t know there?”

“She knows you two,” their mom says. “She used to babysit. Remember? You threatened to throw a toaster at her.”

Min does remember. “I don’t like high heels or dresses.”

“Of course you don’t,” their mother sighs. “You don’t like _anything_ I get you, ever.”

“Min-seo, you need the high heels,” their father says. “You’re never going to get a husband when you’re so short.”

“Good!” They exclaim. “I don’t want a husband!” Jun glances at her.

“Don’t say that, Min,” their mother scolds. “Believe me—this is a phase. And then you’ll meet a man and you’ll be content with all these feminine things.”

“I will, huh?” Min asks.

Their mother nods. “It happened to me. One minute, you’re like...” She frowns and gestures to Min—bare faced, short haired, in black cargo pants and a black band t-shirt. “...that, and then you meet the right man and you want to look your best for him, so you grow out your hair from the bob it was, and you put on high heels, and you wear pink and sun dresses and you put on makeup, and you find a good man who makes you laugh ad then you give birth to an ungrateful pair of twins.”

Jun sighs and takes a sip of their water. Something in Min rises up. “It’s not Jun,” they say. “It’s just me.”

“Jun, you like your gift, don’t you?” Their mother asks.

“Yes, mom.”

“Good. We have one good child.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I just hope my _grandchildren_ don’t act this way.”

Min sighs—but there is no way they can argue about this anymore, their mother’s never going to get it. Their father speaks up. “Dear, she’s never going to get a husband if she keeps acting like this. Maybe we should really consider getting her a therapist.” Min gripped the fork in their hand a bit tighter. “Something’s not right.”

Their mother looks at them. Her gaze hardens and she crosses her arms over her chest—Min can see bits of her in their own reflection sometimes, but it’s always mostly been their father—with the same white skin, dark hair, that stupid look every time he got angry... Their nails dig into their palms—and they can feel blood trickling down their fingers from it. “You’re seeing someone,” she says and Min freezes. “ _Aren’t you?”_

Min keeps her mouth shut, but their eyes give it away.

Their mother’s entire expression shifts into something—excited. And she clasps her hands together like an eight year old that’s just been given a puppy, almost overjoyed. “I knew it! What’s his name?”

Min stabs at their meat. “It’s no one.”

“It’s not no one!” Their mother exclaims. “It’s a guy! What’s his name?” Min buries their face into their hands—they can smell the blood on their fingers. They need to cut their nails. “You know, Min-seo, I met your father when I was about your age.” Min rubs at her eyes. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—it doesn’t matter what everyone else says, I’ve been with your father since high school and we’re still happily married, aren’t we, dear?” She turns to her husband—who’s already stood up from the dinner table to accept a phone call from work. She sinks the slightest bit back into her chair, her expression shifting once more.

Min pulls their hands away enough to glare at her. “It’s. No. One.”

Jun looks at them. “Min, you’re bleeding.”

“I know.”

“Oh, Min-seo, when are you gonna bring him home? We’ll have to find you some makeup, foundation maybe, to match your skin...”

“No,” Min interrupts. “I’m not interested in getting a boyfriend.”

Their mother shakes her head and sighs—like she doesn’t believe them.

They fold another tee shirt into the box and sigh. They can’t stop thinking about what their mother said at dinner—Min doesn’t have much in common with their mother. They more resemble their father—but now, Min wonders if this is supposed to be something they have in common with her.

But they can’t imagine it—they cannot imagine dressing in heels and dresses and painting their nails to impress someone, even Diya. Honestly, a part of them is pretty sure that’s what they love about Diya—they don’t need to go out of their way to impress Diya. With Diya, they can be themselves and that’s enough. They feel more themself around Diya, it’s like a better version of them—a happier, safer, slightly more patient version.

Their window slides open quietly. Min grabs the pack of cigarettes they keep beneath the bed and their lighter. They light one and takes a long drag before tilting their head back, sighing. Their mother was wrong, they decide. Diya doesn’t do that to them—around Diya, Min is proud. Min feels _good._

For the first time in a long time, Min feels at ease—then remembers that they are leaving their twin brother here.

As if on cue, the door to their room opens and Jun enters, but he just remains by the doorway, lingering by the barely ajar door. “You okay?” He mumbles. As the oldest twin, he always tried to protect Min—but Min always ends up doing the actual protecting.

“Fine,” they respond and huff out a puff of smoke that went out the window, a grey trail rising up into the endless above night sky. They flick some ash off the tip, glowing red as it falls into the damp grass. The sprinklers have already ran. “And you?” They’re worried.

Jun rubs at his arm. “You’re leaving.”

“And you’re staying.” And there’s a horrible bitterness on their tongue and in their voice—yes, they’re always at odds, but they love their brother.

There’s a terrible silence. “I’m a coward,” Jun admits, his voice soft. “I’ve never been able to stand up to our father, when you and mom fight, I side with mom even though I agree with you...You always fall victim to our father’s rage and I don’t help you. I stand by and I let it happen. And I can’t leave. Because what if he gets mad at mom and hits her?” Min can’t meet his eyes—because Jun is a coward. A coward that wants to somehow save himself and Min and their mother and can’t and that’s sad and Min hates it because they’re a coward too—they are running away. They can’t beat their father, it is impossible to.

“Yeah, well, so am I,” Min says. “And I’m an idiot, too, so.” They wipe at their eyes. “Look, Jun, it’s not...just because we’re eighteen. I...”

Jun blinks. “You really have a boyfriend?”

Min slides closer to the window, allowing their brother to sit next to them. “Not a boy, Jun. ...Have...you ever noticed how close I am with Diya?”

“Oh.” And Jun doesn’t need any more explanation. “...Diya’s nice,” he says. “I remember she offered me popcorn.”

“She offered me some too,” Min thinks aloud, thinking all the way back to the baseball game, back when they were younger. “...We’re moving in together.”

“Good,” Jun says. “I’m happy for you.”

“Well, I’m not,” Min decides. “I-I’m relieved, I hate it here, I hate our parents, but I don’t want to leave you with them...” Min’s hand ghosts over a spot on their jaw without even really being conscious of it—they have a fiery, defiant spirit their father can never break in them, even if he tries, even if he breaks bones along the way. They broke their arm in middle school because of him. At some point, he realized Min would always move when he tried to throw something at them, so he just tried throwing her at all—and Min was lucky that was the worst of the damage. “Jun...”

“I won’t be here for long,” Jun says, quietly, like he’s beginning to realize his quickly fading hope for their parents to ever act like parents and not prison wardens.

Min grabs his shoulder and squeezes it—they’re not used to showing any affection that isn’t rough housing or punching in the arm, or, when it came to Diya, kissing, but damnit, Jun’s their brother and they do love him. “If you ever need out of here, for any reason, or you need me for any reason, call me.” Jun nods. “I’m serious.”

“I will, Min.” He pulls them into a hug, somehow better at this then they are. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

Min wonders how long things have been like this—their parent know nothing of their social life. They won’t have any idea where they’re going to be after tonight, no idea who they could be with. Jun likely won’t know, either, really, and normally, Min worries that, for some reason, Jun would sell them out if their parents gave some proper motivation to, but... Min knows he won’t.

Maybe this would be better for their parents, Min wondered. They wonder if they’re the reason they’re mother’s desperate to believe she’s still in love with her husband, the reason her husband hates being home. ...But Min doesn’t care—because that’s their problems. They just don’t want them to drag Jun into it.

The finish their cigarette and smile at Jun. “Any chance you want to help me pack?”

Diya buries her face into the pillow. That was stupid. That was stupid. That was stupid. Why did she do that?

There’s a knock and her mother calls through the door. “Diya? Honey?”

Oh no. “What?”

“...Can we talk?” Oh no. “Come on, just the two of us. Girl talk.” There’s a pause. “...I’m concerned, I...” Her mother trails off. “...Can we talk?”

“The door’s unlocked,” she says, but she doesn’t move herself from the bed. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll suffocate before she ends up talking with her mother.

The door creaks a bit as it swings open, but not much. Her mother lingers in the doorway for a moment. “...Have I already told you that I used to do that?” She asks. “When I was younger?”

Diya pushes herself up and looks at her mother. “Do what?”

Her mother smiles and gestures to Diya, on her bed. Her mother has a tendency to talk loud, to be sure that Diya can hear her since she’s half deaf. “That. I also used to not talk to my parents. And I didn’t have any actual outlets, so I just bottled up my emotions until I exploded, usually at them.” She steps forward and sits herself down on the foot of Diya’s bed. “...I never did much of anything when I was your age. I knew your father then, but we only got together in college, you know.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “...I loved him but I didn’t really know it, and all we ever really did together was study. I remember, always kind of wanting to go to bars and parties with him and stuff and dinners and dates, but all we ever really did was study and hold hands, and by the time we married, I realized I was twenty nine and about to become a mother and my life had passed me by.”

Diya looks at her mother—she isn’t sure what she’s saying but her mother continues. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m so happy about how things turned out. I like my life, I just...wish I really enjoyed my youth back when I had it, and had done all the teenager things, stepped out of my shell.” She sighs. “I just wanted you to be better than me. More outgoing, enjoy things more, more open to things, I don’t know. I don’t know.” She scratches her arm. “My parents didn’t care what I did, never seemed to want me to grow up into a functional adult who knew how to do things. I thought I was being better than them.”

What is she supposed to say in response? “You did a good job,” she responds. “I mean, in comparison... Noelle’s mom forces her to get only A’s, none of what she does is good enough and she wants her to get into a good college and she can’t date until college, and Akarsha’s mother is similar, and Min’s beat her, so—“

“Yeah,” she sighs. “But I don’t want to be good in comparison. I just want to be a good mother. Have I not been a good mother?” Diya hesitates. “Have I not been a good mother?”

“You were...” She can’t tell her mother she hasn’t been a good mother. How does someone do that? “Mom, look, I...I...”

Her mother tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling. “Tell me more about Min.”

Diya hesitates. “You sure?”

“All I know about her is you’re now dating, but I can’t think of you dating a third grade, violent girl who beats people up.”

Diya nods. “They still kind of beat people up,” she admits. “But it’s like, people who mess with them, or their twin brother Jun, or me, or even Akarsha and Noelle. They pitch really good.” She drums her fingers on the mattress. “They play Mortal Kombat and always let me be Mileena, and when we play Mario Kart when I inevitably get freaked out by Mortal Kombat, they still let me play as Luigi. They play as Rosalina because they think she looks hot in a biker outfit.” Her mother snorts and Diya can’t help her smile. “They’re still really short, but they’re still viscous and strong and tough. They like dogs just as much as me. They compliment me every chance they get and love holding my hand and tries to be the ‘man’ of the relationship, but we end up sharing the role and it’s great.”

“Freshman year, huh?” She asks. “...Nice. Is she—they...Are they pretty?”

“Sometimes. But sometimes, handsome fits better. I don’t know, I love them.”

“And...” She exhales through her nose. “They never like...take their anger out on you, right?”

Diya feels herself get slightly more offended. “Never,” she says. “Why would you think that?”

“Because abuse is a cycle,” her mother says. “One difficult to break. We feel bad for abused children raised by abusive parents until the abused children become the abusive parents with abused children of their own—and it’s sad.” She clears her throat. “I just...want to make sure, if you’re really going to be...” She can’t even seem to say it—maybe it’s because ‘gay’ doesn’t really fit since Min isn’t a girl. Either way, Diya’s face heats up a bit in shame. “Diya, I just...want to make it clear that...I’m proud of you and I’ve been proud of your choices up until now.” They aren’t looking into each other’s eyes. “...I want to be proud of this one, I just...I need time. Your mother’s getting old.”

Diya nods. “I knew you’d be okay with it eventually, I just...didn’t want to wait for you to accept it.”

Her mother nods. “Well...I know I shouldn’t speak for your father, but—we will accept it. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I will come to accept...this.” She reaches over, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “...Let me help you pack.”

Min’s phone vibrates—a text from Diya. “ _Here. Around the corner.”_

They wish they had more stuff—they tear down the curtains and stuff them into their backpack. Alongside their backpack, they have a smaller than average suitcase. Just some clothes, a few items—they’ve already given Diya their baseball bat for their apartment.

They quietly move into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. Their phone vibrates again—this time, it’s Jun. “ _Be smart.”_

Min smiles and texts back silently. “ _Be brave.”_ They shove it back in their pocket and continue to move—but they stop when the front door opens and their father walks in. Quickly, in the darkness, Min stashes their bags behind a chair in the living room and crosses their fingers.

He looks at them, long and hard. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Shouldn’t you also be in bed?”

“Shut your mouth, Min, you have school in the morning.”

“It’s Friday.”

Something flashes across his face. “You know Min, I can’t wait until tomorrow. Because you’re finally going to be old enough to pawn off on a husband, and if you act like this around him, he’ll be able to fix you. You won’t be my problem then. And if you don’t do what he wants, he’ll divorce you and you’ll live on the street and you won’t be welcome home. You’re gonna make a terrible wife and a terrible mother and you’ve been a terrible daughter.”

Min’s just about to say something—how he’s a terrible father. How they’re not even a girl, how they’ll never want a husband or kids—but they stop themselves. This is it. He’s going to go to his bedroom, go to bed and leave Min alone and then Min can _leave._ Saying something now means keeping Diya waiting while they argue, and if they keep Diya waiting too long, she will come and find them and she will try to intervene and Min doesn’t want Diya to get hurt. Swallowing their pride now means it’s over.

“Maybe I am,” they respond and they watch their father leave. They wait until the door closes, for the hated man to be entirely gone. “Bye, you little bitchass motherfucker,” they mumble, grabbing their things and walking right out the door. They lock it on their way out too, because they’re a terrible daughter.

The moment they step outside, they feel a bit better. Slowly, with every step towards the parked car on the corner of the street, a weight rises over their shoulders until they no longer feel so heavy.

And they grin.

The night air is refreshing and clear. Diya’s already outside her car and she opens the trunk for them, helps them with their stuff and they drive off into the night—like it’s some sort of fairy tale, but instead of a horse it’s a beaten down minivan, and instead of a knight, it’s a gorgeous, tall, athletic lesbian (well, not lesbian, but it sounds better than ‘pansexual’ and Min likes the way it sounds) they’re in love with, and instead of some princess they’re rescuing, it’s just Min. Short and agender and not very pretty, but whatever—they finally feel safe.

“You okay?” Diya asks after a minute.

“I’ve never been better,” Min says, and it’s honest.

They park near their building for the apartment and Min holds Diya’s hand the entire way up the stairs until they reach their apartment. Diya smiles and opens the door for them and—

Min freezes.

The last time they saw Diya’s parents, they didn’t look quite so old and quite so analytical. But they’re looking at them very closely.

“Oh, fuck,” Min says and almost steps back and out the door. They’re certain this is bad, but when they look at Diya, Diya’s just smiling, genuine and beautiful.

“So,” Diya’s mom says, towering over them. “You’re Min?”

They can’t come up with an answer, still shocked. They had felt so safe and now, they’re wondering if they really are. “...Hi.”

Diya’s father looks over, steps closer and offers his hand. Min shakes it, but still chokes out a “...Hi...”

Diya smiles. “Mom, Dad, this is Min. Min, my parents are helping us move in.”

“They...” They turn to look at Diya. “They _know?_ ”

Diya nods. “And...they’re okay with it?” She looks at them. “They’re going to be, anyway.”

_Going to be?_ “Okay,” they say.

Diya’s father steps forward and Min almost takes a step back—they might be a bit intimidated. “Do you need help with your things?”

“No,” Min says. They still have their backpack and suitcase. “This is it.”

Diya’s father blinks. “ _That’s it?”_

“Yeah.” Min would cross their arms if they weren’t carrying a suitcase. “I don’t have a lot of things.”

“Huh,” Diya’s mother says. “I thought your family was actually more better off.”

They huffed. “I had to pack light, and I don’t have much of a use for a thousand dresses.”

“Could have sold them,” Diya’s father said. “And used the money to decorate the apartment.” Min realized they could have. Well, fuck.

Diya’s mother helps push a two person, second hand couch into the living room before stopping and looking awkwardly at Min. “Want some coffee?”

Min nods—they’re not usually shy, but they feel stupid. Diya’s mother walks into the kitchen and Min follows close behind. She grabs a styrofoam cup from a stack of them and pours a darker than night liquid into the cup before handing it to Min—if Min’s being honest, they’ve never actually drank coffee before. Diya’s mother grabs another cup from the stack and pours some for herself. “...Diya’s told me a bit about you,” she says.

Min nods. “I’ve heard about you, also.” Briefly, they wonder if they can stab nervousness.

But they suppose they can’t—they’ll just have to suffer.

“...Do your parents know you’re here?” She asks.

They swallow and for a minute, they’re going to lie, but they end up silently staring into their cup. They don’t want to lie. But they don’t want to tell the truth.

Their silence is an answer in itself. “I see.” Min takes a sip—it is bitter and horrible but it chases some warmth into her bones and the cold out of them. “...You see, Min, I...” She stops. “...I love my daughter. Unconditionally. And...There is nothing that bothers me more than hearing another parent doesn’t love their own daughter or their son or their...” She gestures to Min’s face. “...the same way I do. I mean, obviously love is different or whatever, but...” She takes a deep breath. “Did Diya ever tell you what I do for a living?”

Min nodded. “Therapist, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it, therapist. I mostly work around kids...” She sighs. “About a decade ago, I met a little girl who told me she wanted to kill her father. My sister later saw the same girl in the ER after being beaten nearly to death with a metal spoon. Spent the rest of her days unable to walk, her father effectively kneecapped her. ...I don’t like parents mistreating their children. ...If Diya likes you this much, I’m willing to give you a chance, but...” There’s a pause. “...I know what it’s like to have bad parents that should never have been parents and I know the effects of it on their children.” Min scratched at their forearm—a habit they tended to fall back on when they got worried. “...If you need a therapist or something, I have a lot of friends who are able to help victims of abuse.”

“Oh god, how much did Diya tell you?”

Diya’s mother smiles. “This is the only way I know how to be nice—offering help to get therapy.”

Min nods. “Thanks.” They see where Diya gets it.

She clasps their shoulder awkwardly.

She hears a loud, “OH, fuck!” and for a minute freezes before going to the kitchen. “Min, mom?”

The kitchen is small, dated but her and Min should be fine—there’s a puddle of coffee on the floor though and Min’s rummaging through their backpack. They pull out a set of curtains and curse again. “Oh, shit, my flag.” Diya notices that on one side of them, there’s the agender flag—the one she bought Min.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Her mother looks guilty.

“Ugh, it’s fine,” Min says looking it over. Because the curtains are white, the stain really shows. They hold it up. “...Maybe it will add character...?” Diya doesn’t think that’s it.

Diya’s mother grimaces. “If you want, Min, I can clean that.”

“It’s fine,” Min says.

“No, it looks awful, I just got a brand new washing machine, and I have good stain treater, I’ll get this back to you, but I can fix it.” Min lets her take it.

“You sure?” Min looks suspicious.

“I just knocked your backpack off your shoulder and poured boiling hot coffee over half of your belongings, it’s the least I could do.” Diya really hopes their conversation had been going well before this.

“Hey, Min, can you help me with our bed in our room?” Diya asks. “I just need to figure out where to put it.”

“Wait, you’re _sharing_ a bed?” Diya’s father asks from the living room.

“Yes,” Diya says. “We’re eighteen now, we only have one bedroom, we’ve dated for years.” She grabs Min’s hand.

When they reach the bedroom, Diya lets go. “Please tell me that conversation was going good before that,” she says. Min helps her push the bed against the wall.

“It was fine,” Min says. “I see where you get it from.”

Diya snorts. “When am I going to meet your parents?”

“Oh, god, Diya, don’t even joke about that, you are never meeting them.” Together, they manage to push the bed—it’s a good mattress on a cheap bed frame. The walls around them are a pale beige color and smoke damaged. “...But we could have Jun over or something. Your family can meet him.”

Diya smiles. “It’d be nice to see him again.”

“I can grill steak,” Min says.

Diya snorts. “Min.”

“Do you not like steak?”

“Well, I don’t not like it.” She looks at Min for a minute and they almost curse very loudly again.

“Right. Hindi. No beef. Chicken, then? I don’t know, we’ll figure out the details.”

Diya snorts—and it turns into a complete laugh. Min flushes—but it’s not like they don’t enjoy seeing their girlfriend happy like this. “You were just...so confused.” She cackles, grabs the bedpost. “You-You forgot I didn’t...”

“It’s not that funny,” Min argues, but they want to kiss that adorable, dorky smile on Diya’s face.

“It’s not that!” Diya laughs. “I just—earlier today, I was thinking about how, a few weeks after we got together, we went to Akarsha’s house for that barbecue, you know?” She rubs at her eyes. “And Noelle lied to her mother to get to go, and we got to meet her family and stuff, and they grilled food, and for the most part, half of the people were eating burgers and the other half was eating either chicken or vegetarian food because Akarsha’s family has like, half the grill dedicated to beef and the other half for everything else, and you wouldn’t kiss me at all, you know?”

Min blushes—yes, they remember this.

“And I thought I did something wrong, I was panicking, and when you were walking me home afterwards, you stopped and said that you had been wanting to kiss me all evening, but couldn’t because you had been eating beef and you thought that was a problem.”

“I thought it was!”

“I mean, not really—kissing me once wouldn’t have been the end of the world, I didn’t eat a cow. It’s not like an allergy or anything. I wouldn’t have dropped dead. You like, had been drinking water non stop and chewing gum and thought you had to go home to brush your teeth before you could kiss me.”

“I know, I’m stupid,” Min grumbles.

Diya smiles. “You’re adorable.”

Min rolls their eyes—they know they’re not really adorable, but when Diya calls them that, the fact that they aren’t doesn’t matter. “Adorable” means charming and it means Diya’s complimenting them and they’re doing things right and that’s a good thing.

“I love you,” Diya says.

Min’s heart swells. “I love you too.”

They walk back out after a minute into the living room where Diya’s parents are talking about how clumsy Diya’s mom is. “What even happened?’ Diya’s father asked.

Min shrugs. “Dropped my backpack, and...” They stop and look at Diya—Diya realizes Min likely doesn’t know her parents’ names.

“Mom spilled coffee over Min’s backpack,” Diya says.

“Oh.” Diya’s father nods, making awkward eye contact with Min. “Relationships with your significant other’s parents are hard.”

Diya’s mom nods in agreement. “I called my mother in law a bitchass motherfucker once.”

“To be fair, she was being a bitchass motherfucker.”

Diya grabs Min’s hand and squeezes tightly. This is going a thousand times better than she ever would have thought.

A week passes. Both of them are days away from graduation—Min is excited. It’s the weekend—Min is sitting, leaned up against Diya in their living room. They had waken up early, because one of their neighbors had _really_ loud morning sex with their girlfriend at five in the morning. It’s onLyra’s six, but Min’s okay. Diya reads next to her, and everything is warm. Everything is perfect.

There’s a knock on the door. Diya sighs and moves, but Min stops her. “I’ll get it.”

Diya smiles and kisses their cheek and immediately goes back to her book. Min’s already got a promise that they’re going to play Mortal Kombat later, and then Mario Kart. They are willing to do anything for Diya, especially now.

The cold, morning air runs into their apartment the moment Min opens the door—and there stands Diya’s mother. She smiles softly. “Morning, Min. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” They hold the door open for her.

“Who is it?” Diya asks from the couch.

“Yo’ momma.”

“Seriously, Min.”

“Morning, Diya,” her mother calls and Diya rushes to stand. She’s still in her pajamas, unlike her mother, who’s dressed for work.

“...Hi, mom.” She brushes off something from her pajamas. If her skin wasn’t the light brown it was, Min’s certain she’d be visibly flushed.

“Morning, Diya.” She’s holding a box and the folded curtains. “I brought donuts.”

“I like you,” Min responds. They flip open the box and immediately hand Diya a glazed. Diya smiles and holds their hand again. They had actually been getting worried about their curtains, they’re glad to have them back.

Diya’s mom smiles. “I hope you don’t mind, I...I might have overstepped my bounds, but I noticed some of the stitches came loose on the flag, so I sewed it back on, and one thing lead to another...” She hands it to Min.

Min looks it over. On one half of the curtains, there’s their agender flag. On the other part of the curtains, there’s the pansexual flag stitched in. Diya’s face brightens. “Mom!”

She smiles. “I’m trying to be supportive,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, Min—I just assumed.”

“I love it.” There is no coffee stain. The fabric is still rough in her hands, but it’s a little less still and it’s never been this clean. “Thanks.”

Diya’s mother actually looks relieved to hear this. “Good.” She sighs. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, I need to get to work, but it was nice coming er to see you two. I love you, Diya—Goodbye, Min.” She closes the door behind her and seems to rush, and almost trip. Min can _totally_ see the resemblance.

Diya looks over the curtains. “That was nice.” She’s smiling—now that Min’s alone with them, they can actually kiss the smile on her face. They lean over and do so.

“It was.”

“I’m glad I haven’t disappointed her forever,” Diya says.

Min looks at the curtain rod four feet above their head. “Can you help me put these curtains up?”

Diya takes them out of their hands and does it easily. “We’re gonna need to get you a step ladder... Or put everything on the lowest shelf possible.”

“I’m not that short.”

“Dunno,” Diya responds and Min rolls their eyes. Their phone vibrates and they look at it.

“Hey, Diya, any chance Jun can come over for dinner or something? They have something they want to get off their chest with me.” They’re already texting back.

“Of course,” Diya says.

It was the answer they expected. Diya goes to their side. “Wow,” she sighs. “Our apartment is perfect.”

Min glances around—the ceiling is smoke damaged from the previous renters, all the furniture is second hand and old and ugly, their curtains are so thin light still gets in easily, and their TV is ancient, large and boxy. This is much different from Min’s parents’ house. They just really hope Jun is okay right now. “It is,” they say.

They sit down beside Diya and relax—it comes easily. They’ve never felt better. Diya’s fingers intertwine themselves in theirs and everything is perfect as they stare at those cloth curtains, their flags illuminated by the summer sunlight through their dusty, old window—and the fact that it’s dusty and old doesn’t matter, because it’s theirs. Not even theirs—it’s Min’s and Diya’s.


End file.
